


Medications & Accommodations

by TigerLilyNoh



Series: The Uncomfortable Adventures of Sam in Law School [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Depressed Sam, Depression, Law Student Sam, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester's Visions, Sam Winchester-centric, Sam-Centric, Student Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerLilyNoh/pseuds/TigerLilyNoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm a Supernatural fic writer, who is currently going to law school in the Bay Area, so I figured I'd write some vignettes of Sam in law school.  </p><p>Collection theme: Sam chose law school over hunting, but it wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it.</p><p>This ficlet:  Sam talks with his psychiatrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medications & Accommodations

"How are the headaches?"

Sam absentmindedly played with the pen that he'd taken from the clinic's waiting room.  He'd handed back the clipboard and questionnaire, but for whatever reason the cheap blue ballpoint had slipped his mind.  The clinic probably didn't care about a 50¢ pen; on the scale of offenses committed by psychiatric patients he imagined a missing pen would rank pretty low.  Also, surely some of his scholarship must be going to the campus's mental health clinic's pen supply.  He tapped the pen on his knee with a little less guilt, then looked up at his psychiatrist.

All in all he liked Dr. Neves.  She was gentle in her speech but had a composure that granted her authority beyond her years.  Based on the photographs on her desk she probably had two kids in grade school.  He suspected she was a good mom—he wasn't sure what standard to measure her against, so maybe his constructed idea of her would be his new yardstick.  It was probably the fact that she seemed to really care about his happiness.  Maybe that's why he assumed she was a good parent?

"The headaches are about the same, maybe worse.  My neurologist wants to try another MRI."  He opened his mouth to elaborate, hesitated, then decided to volunteer some of his troubles.  "She asked me if I knew anything about my family's medical history.  I told her that I don't and I couldn't reach them.  She asked if she could try calling them—I think she doesn't believe me, like I just don't want to call them.  I've tried, for months."

"I remember you've mentioned that before.  Does the idea of her trying to reach out to them upset you?"

"No—not really.  I mean, things aren't good between us, but I'm ready to turn the page... or not, if they don't want to.  It's not actually the possibility of talking with them that's getting to me—I authorized her to tell them what's going on and I had to give her their contact info because I never filled in my emergency contact info—back at Stanford it was Jess….  I told Dr. Vu that they probably wouldn't answer any personal questions over the phone and I'd probably just have to deal with it on my own."  Sam tapped the pen faster.  "She told me that even if I don't want her to call them about this….  She said I should fill out my emergency contact."

He wasn't dumb; he knew she was worried that his symptoms would get worse.  She was looking for his next of kin or some sort of advanced healthcare directive agent.  He'd thought about setting up an AHD after having to deal with Jessica's death and her estate.  Growing up he'd been painfully aware of the fragility of life, but only now did he understand the mountains of paperwork that shadow life's major moments.  If something were to happen to him, the school would want to know how to proceed, and if he didn't give them any guidance a huge legal shitstorm would rain down upon the school.  

That was one of the interesting things about law school: damn near everyone was a lawyer or lawyer-in-training.  Everyone constantly worried about red tape and exposure to liability.  It meant that you never had to wonder about ambiguous class assignments, but at the same time reserving a private room in the library nearly called for providing applications in triplicate.  Of course the school wanted a family member to call on if there was a matter of life and death.  He'd probably give them Bobby Singer's info... if he could remember the real phone number.

"How does that make you feel?"

"I don't know.  It'd be nice to have answers, just not the kind she's thinking of.  I mean, either the MRI will show something and I'll know the bad news or it won't show anything and I still won't know what's going on."  Sam forced himself to hand over the pen to her, then he ran his fingers through his hair while taking a deep breath.  "I thought it'd be different.  Even after Jess died, I thought that I could have a quiet simple life.  I knew school would be hard, but I could keep my head down for three years and at the end maybe it'd be better.  I'd have some distance, a fresh start and hopefully a  long, b oring life.  Now with the way Vu's talking... I just want to get through school.  I don't even want to think past two years."

"It's fine to focus on the present," Neves reassured him.  "Many students can't envision what the future will hold."

Sam looked up at her.  He wasn't entirely sure why, but her statement shook him.  He thought of his nightmares and hallucinations.  Since having those symptoms he kept getting these weird feelings of deja vu.  He'd had to stop reading the newspaper because it'd just spur his imagination, which made his anxiety worse, which would trigger more of his symptoms, which made him more paranoid, which made his imagination even worse, and so on.  It was part of his anxiety and PTSD; he read too much into things.  He'd get freaked out by the littlest statement or occurrence.  He was out.  He was safe.  He was a civilian.  Sam repeated his mantra in his head a few times.

"Are you okay?" asked Neves.  Based on her look of mild concern he'd probably been nodding or whispering to himself.

"Yeah, I'm just a little frayed right now."

"Have you been following your treatment plan?"

"Yeah, Endep twice a day, an hour at the gym in the morning, and mindfulness exercises before bed."

"Are you taking your Xanax when you need it?"  She knew him well.  Either he was being obvious or she really was as sharp as he thought.

"The Xanax makes it hard to think.  I started smoking instead.  A guy in my dorm offered me some.  I think it helps a little," Sam admitted.  He was relieved that she didn't seem mad.  She was probably used to much worse.

"You know you're not supposed to change your medication without talking to me or one of your other doctors."

"Do you really want an email every time a student gets high?  You'd hit max storage capacity on your email account before the end of the week."  He chuckled.

"I don't care if you're just getting high, but if you're replacing your Xanax with marijuana, then I should know."  Neves opened her desk drawer and withdrew a small pad of paper.  "Do you want a prescription for it?  It'll be cheaper that buying it from your neighbor."

"Yeah, thanks."  Sam smiled at a thought.  "I don't suppose my school insurance covers weed?"

"We're a liberal school, but we're not that liberal," Neves commented as she started writing out a prescription.  The silence that stretched between them while she wrote made him feel a bit self-conscious.  He wanted to fill the void, so he moved on to answer her next logical question.

"The meds and stuff are good, it's just school that's wearing me down."

"Are classes going alright?  I know you didn't like some of your 1L classes."

"The classes themselves are okay.  I just don't know how I'm going to make it through finals.  I'm worried that with all the stress I'll lose an hour of each exam to the headaches alone."  The mountain of medication he'd have to take to prevent the headaches would basically incapacitate him, which wasn't really an option during a high-stakes three-hour exam.

"Have you registered for accommodations?" Neves asked matter-of-factly, but he didn't understand what she was talking about.

"Accommodations?"  

"For your disability."

He stared at  her, co mpletely dumbfounded.  He had problems, but he wasn't disabled.  He could bench press 250lbs, run a mile in 5:30, and got in the 99th percentile on the LSAT.  Yes, he was having a rough period, but rough periods happen.

"I'm not disabled," he tried to explain.  "I'm stressed and I get headaches."

"You been having acute neurological symptoms for over six months.  It doesn't matter if the cause is physical or mental, you have a condition that puts you at a disadvantage compared with your classmates."

"I'm not special."  Sam's voice wasn't as confident as he'd wanted.

"Everybody's special, even if you don't want to be."

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Lastarael for beta reading this.


End file.
